


Win the War

by DrJohnCarter781



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Steve Rogers (mentioned) - Freeform, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJohnCarter781/pseuds/DrJohnCarter781
Summary: A look into the brain of Tony Stark. It's not pretty.





	Win the War

_God_ , he was tired.

Tired of all the facades, all the panic, all the sadness. Tired of lying on his workshop floor unable to move, reliving having his heart pulled out of his chest. Tired of dreaming about Howard's fists slashing his face. Tired of seeing the smothering darkness of space whenever he closed his eyes. 

Yeah the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist was tired of his life. So what. What did it matter anyway?

* * *

"J what's the time?" Tony groaned from his highly uncomfortable workshop chair. (Seriously you'd think he'd be able to afford a new one). 

"3:34am, Sir." 

"Well I always work best highly dehydrated and lethargic." 

"I would have to disagree Sir, if I may suggest-"

"JARVIS, not in the mood for a lecture."

"As you wish Sir."

_Fuck_

He was gonna try and stop this. Well, he hoped he might. Being 40-something and a literal superhero does take its toll on the body. _You'll never be a hero._

_Fuck off._

God dammit he was  _exhausted._ Exhausted of his fucking brain. Exhausted of never stopping, never thinking, never listening-  _never growing the fuck up, right Anthony?_

"Shut up, Howard," Tony murmured into his hands, as they scrubbed his weary face. He couldn't even think properly without fucking it up. Might as well stop working now, it's not like the shit he makes is worth anything.  _It was never worth anything any-_ "I know, Dad," Tony cut off. Maybe he just needed a drink.

He got up and nearly collapsed with the strength it took. His muscles took a beating at a battle today, you know, after he did some self-sacrificial shit. Much to the team's dismay. Especially Cap come to think about it... Hm. He'll have to look into that.  _Like you deserve Captain fucking America you asshole- "_ Yeah Yeah, I know." Shakily, stood up and wandered past his mounds of metal strewn across the workshop. He really didn't have the energy to clean it up. He limped to the bar in the corner and grabbed the nearest bottle. Bourbon, it seemed, was the drink of the night.  He sipped it slowly, relishing in the amber liquid hitting his tongue. 

He drank

And he drank.

And he drank.

He drank until he drained not one, but two bottles of bourbon. He was well on his way to alcohol poisoning, if he was lucky. He drank until Howard was a blur in head, an indistinguishable voice yelling in the distance. Now it was just him and the bottle. How fucking poetic. He was no role model to children across the country, not like the good Captain sleeping a floor away from him. This wasn't some heroic story of overcoming pain, this was just reality, just Tony being a pussy. He needed something stronger than alcohol, something he could see and look at and it was then, lying on his workshop floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, Tony felt the urge. 

_The urge._

Th urge to grab the nearest sharp object and...well... you know. 

Fuck he was gonna stop doing this to himself. His body was already scattered with scars, he can't keep doing this to himself.  _But you can._ Tony rolled over to his side in his drunken haze to focus on something- _anything-_ else. 

_You deserve it, you're a fucking menace and you know it. You can't even keep it together enough to sleep, to do your goddamn job. You are, and always will be the merchant of death. The merchant of pain, suffering and sadness. You choose to wear this badge, Tony, and I'm not gonna stop you, you piece of shit. Drink your fucking bourbon and slit you wrists so I don't have to deal with you._

Fuck, his depression was talking to him. He must not have drank enough. 

Reaching for another bottle as he sat up, he tried to fight his brain telling him to cut. He had to. He had to stop. His alcoholism on the other hand, could stay. Twisting the cap off of the-vodka-he sat back against the cool metal of his workshop, grounding himself. Well, as much as he could be grounded given he was piss-ass drunk. Slowly, his defeated brain slipped slowly into sleep, images of wormholes being drowned out by bourbon. 

"Thank God." he murmured, sinking into the wall as he went under while smashing his vodka as it dropped on the floor. Thank God he didn't give in. Thank God he'll only have one hell of a hangover and not red scars scattered down his thighs.

* * *

 

_You may have one the battle Anthony, but you won't win the war._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was okay? This is my first fic, be gentle. I really just love sad Tony fics and wanted to contribute.


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